


Urban Dwellers

by CRScully



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dark, Dystopian, Gen, Horror, Murder, Pessimistic, Poetry, Spoken Word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 12:52:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3068669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CRScully/pseuds/CRScully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life as we know it. Or, rather, the life that’s going on when all of our backs are turned. A spoken word poem about the secret lives urbanites are born into and live.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Urban Dwellers

Cough it up and spit it out!

Remove your indifference and your traces of doubt.

They open your gullet and stuff you full of all of the “things” you learn in school. 

And all of the things that are wrong with you.

And it bubbles like tar and comes out in a slew

From your eyes and your ears and it drips down your chin.

So do it now! Cough it up before this even begins!

Hair on the floor,

Blood in the cogs,

People fall in and then they are robbed.

They sit at their desks for most of their lives until their bones liquidize

And only then do they die!

It blackens the teeth but the tongue is gold.

And they pressed you and shaped you in their infant sized mold

From before you were born 

Like it was meant to be.

But I still cry out loud so the people will see

With eyes not covered by the thin, veiny films

Of membrane they give you the day you are built.

And the machines all buzz and they whirl and they crack

And they spread the dead corpses out on a rack.

A claw plucks the parts that can be used again

And throw what’s left of you into the bin.

And the babes, they line them all up in a row.

Yes they’re smart and they think but they still cannot know

That the pills the nurse plops in their naive, wanting mouths

Get lodged in their souls and they never come out.

So cough it up quick before this even comes about!

The useless ones there are the ones who can’t shout.

They preach and they pray with every known word and they bang their fists loud because they deserve to be heard

Over the grinding of the horrible machines.

But they don’t last for long--the loud ones are often gone

Before they have time enough to be missed.

Urban dwellers.

They creep and they crawl straight up the walls to soothe their insatiable lust.

But the machines pay no mind.

They won’t stop--lest they get behind and crumble into a pile of rust.

Urban dwellers!

Oh the name does rack my spine!

Don’t walk near the alleys, you’re always watched from behind!

Fighting over trash, down on all fours,

You give them your money and still they want more!

How curious they are with their knobby, twisted forms.

And can you believe, my dear ones, that this is the norm?!

Born in factories, we are all but guided through life.

Never knowing always that we live in such strife.

It hums and it groans as it pushes out another set

Of these vaguely human-shaped meat puppets

Who consume and who lust for the almighty “thing” as if it were a lover

or opium for the pain of being exposed.

Of being a raw hunk of meat with long, spidery veins

That stretch and crawl on every second of the day

Until we die and fall over into the drain.

And there’s a lot to be said for the mind--the brain--of these vaguely humanoid things.

It’s made out of sponges and adhesive glue

So the things they throw will stick with you.

And I watch all this madness and unnerving pain

And the lies all clash and they blend in my brain.

And it’s enough to drive even the strong-willed man insane

Unless he coughs up his pill.

Cough it up! Spit it out!

Now the words scratch and scrape against my brain.

Loud as a whisper, soft as a train.

All of the voices of those who are in pain

And do not know how to speak.

Cough it up, spit it out!

Now is the time!

I can no longer try to convince you with rhyme.

Now I’ve given you the tools to see for yourself

That we somehow live in this man-made Hell.

It’s either the pain or the shame of what we cannot see that allows these monsters to 

Continue to be.

The machines become thunderous and they vibrate my ears.

They appear to grow faster because they feed off of fear. 

Like sentient beings, they knew we were here.

Cough it up! Spit it out! Before it’s too late!

My fists clench in hatred as I near the gate.

The booth is unmanned so I walk right in to the place

Where the bricks are made of blood and of sin.

I’ve come here to end this.

My only goal now is to look upon the face

Of the monstrous antichrist who runs this seedy place.

I get to the office and bang on the door

And there’s no answer from within, but there’s blood on the floor.

Panicked, I rip open the door and I see not the face of the monster

But of you and me

** The controls of the machine in our hands.   
**


End file.
